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Shadow-dog has no shadow for the past few days as the clouds have made everything everywhere into one big shadow. He’s kind of a shadow of himself, a black hole into which all photons in the universe disappear. However, a very kind reader sent this in from a Texan Parson who also has an all-black German Shepherd. There is a wolfish revelation in the shadow of the otherwise innocuous looking GSD:

Meanwhile, my own “Shadow” has gone dark, or perhaps everything around him is so cast into shadow that he himself casts no shadow. I sent him a text reading: “Jerusalem capital…” He has no comment. Don’t read anything into this. He’s too “Gray” to figure out. Things are never as they seem. Ever. A shadow just looks the way it does because of angles. And then there are those who make puppets of shadows and even of a “Shadow;” and I don’t like that at all.

When I only had a tiny doghouse for Laudie-dog, impossibly Shadow-dog slept in it. Now that he’s got his own doghouse he doesn’t sleep in Laudie-dog’s house, but just throws Laudie-dog’s doghouse in the air and around the yard. I solved that by surrounding Laudie-dog’s house with solid cement blocks. Ha ha. Meanwhile, with the door of Laudie dog’s doghouse narrowed by the cement blocks so that Shadow-dog can’t enter, Laudie-dog has also on occasion taken over Shadow-dog’s doghouse, until Shadow-dog throws that around the yard. Again, that was solved with solid cement blocks, 14 all told. We’ll see how that works. I’m happy to see that Laudie-dog is still holding her own over against the monstrously extra-large Shadow-dog.

I would never clip the beaks of chickens. I haven’t done that. But people do that. There is a reason. A bad reason. A horrible reason. A reason that could be avoided other ways.

I would never clip the nails of cats or dogs. And I haven’t. There are reasons. I understand that. But, just, no. There are other ways of taking care of reasons to do those things.

I would never neuter a female dog. There are reasons for that. I understand. And however much I protest I did have Laudie-dog “fixed” (how grotesque) when she adopted me at the request of the neighbor who didn’t want a thousand male dogs, mostly pit-bulls, on the property having their way with Laudie-dog.

I would never neuter a male dog. And I haven’t. There are reasons. I understand. But I am bringing Shadow-dog, GSD that he is, to get snipped in just a few minutes from now. This is life in the big city of Andrews, where puppy farms abound and GSDs who are not fixed would spend their time jumping the tallest of fences to jump anything in heat, perhaps also getting shot or run over in the process. So, O.K. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. But, here we are.

Both my hands are swollen to three times normal size. Fingers don’t bend. Turning blue as blood vessels are vicegripped shut by the swelling. White blood cells can bead up on the surface of the stretched skin. Joints can feel as if they are dislocating. The swelling can get in the feet and stomach and intestines and face and throat as well. The latter case is often deadly. It’s hereditary. Ultra super rare. My mom was a Guinea pig at Bethesda Naval hospitals as my dad was Dept of the Navy, USMC. It can last for days or even a week or two. But it’s always there for a lifetime, ready to make the body explode like this. It can come without much reason like being overtired. You feel an ache or see the tiniest bit of swelling and you know exactly what’s going to happen. It’s so quick you can almost watch yourself literally explode. If it’s in the throat even if you make it to an emergency room you’ll likely die as they won’t know what it is, how quick it is, or what to do, giving you stuff like a blood transfusion or epinefrin. That’s for the acquired not the hereditary version. But you can’t explain that with a swollen throat. There’s carcinogenic medicine I take but that doesn’t stop all incidents by a long shot. I’ve been at death’s door dozens of times. Without the medicine I’d be dead almost immediately.

Since the moment the police arranged for me to get Shadow, a pure-bred German Shepherd, his poops were continuously softer (worms?) and stickier (blood?) until they were like thick water. Enough’s enough. I didn’t want him to bleed out. Off to the veterinarian.

Yep. The entire array of every kind of worm known to dogs were ripping his intestines to shreds. That’s why he was so thin, ribs cutting your hands just about. He was put on a course of two antibiotics for ten days, twice a day, and a large inside the throat “injection” of a good cup-full of white paste one a day for three days.

It would have made for hilarious youtube videos if I were to have filled out antics. I wanted to make sure he was going to get his medicine and not spit it out in the grass. GSDs are too smart for the own good methinks. So I put them manually down his throat. Fun! The wrestling match was on. The rules: he doesn’t bite me, and he never even thought about it, good doggie-puppy that he is. Everything went down so far. His poops became healthy poops, not sticky, not smelly, almost immediately. Father George: Dog Poop Slave.

More than half-way through the process and still having to do the pills morning and evening, and half getting a heart attack with a GSD that is now rapidly putting on healthy weight, with both of us exhausted, both out of breath, both having to sit to catch our breath, it finally hit me to pray to Saint Anthony, Saint Francis, Saint John Bosco, Saint Roch and my Guardian Angel: “Please let this go smoothly.” It’s now twice I did that. No problems at all. It wasn’t pleasant having Shadow be a mere shadow of his former shadowiness. But now he’s a healthy Shadow once again.

Meanwhile, what to do with a maggot? Kill it! We treated Jesus, God-Man, like a maggot. Psalm 22:6. A maggot nailed to the Cross. And the translation is maggot, not simply worm.

By the way, Jesus stood in our place, the Innocent for the guilty, which means that we’re the actual maggots. Humility provides the opportunity of thanksgiving to Jesus.

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I’m on a steep learning curve with my just acquired 13 month old German Shepherd. This picture shows my failure in trying to keep him from overturning his water dish by surrounding it with solid cement blocks. Nope. He turned it sideways in the “hole” I had made for him to drink out of. So, I got him a huge un-tip-over-able super-size stainless-steel water dish. That works so far.

Meanwhile, the neighbor got him his own outdoor dog-house in addition to Laudie-dog’s dog-house. I thought I might get him a cage, that is, crate, as GSD owners call it, for use inside the house. It’s a 48″ cage with a hard plastic tray, under and over which I put some used carpet bits to keep it quiet and comfy for this gentle monster. He went in right away and sleeps in it at night, all on his own. I haven’t tried to close the door yet. I’ll need some advice for that. But for now, this is good. This is his space. I had put another piece of carpet over the top to give him a sense of a cave, but he ripped that off and unceremoniously tossed it a good dozen feet in the air, leaving me quite amazed. I tried it again and he left it there. I guess as long as he proves to himself he could destroy it he’s happy with it.

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Not a dog, but a wolf, as they used to be called before our German friends became politically correct to those a bit scared of wolves. Here’s a few seconds of audio of Shadow-dog welcoming me home after being away for only about 90 minutes. Honestly, he gets a little carried away. I think he scares the whole city:

Meanwhile, a breeder/trainer in the parish has agreed to take on the training of Shadow-dog with myself as a welcome challenge otherwise impossible, for free.

Meanwhile, I’m heading down to the Vet right now to get shots regardless of what the previous “owners” said he got or didn’t.

Meanwhile, utterly impossibly, he’s taken up residence in Laudie-dog’s dog-house, which is half his length, half his height, but, hey, that doesn’t stop wolves, right? I now understand the need for a metal “crate” on the owner’s part, and am not too against this as it seems that GSDs think of this not as a cage but as their own private den, and a way to please their owners. So, fine. As it is, he’s just about ready to eat the 27-ton log-splitter.

By the way, this GSD was an absolute surprise. No budgeting for this guy. It all took place within hours. I’m on a steep learning curve. What I’ve learned so far is this, ever so simply, these GSDs are not dogs, but rather wolves. But to me, that’s really cool altogether. I love it.

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Shadow, in his new collar, crushing what must be a dinosaur hip joint, the huge “ball” of which in in his mouth. As you can see, the other side of the bone was already crushed cleanly in half by this amazing dog. I’m thinking he would make a good “bite dog” saving the lives of police by grabbing armed and dangerous runners hiding under houses etc.

Anyway, bones are not the only thing he’s been crushing. He’s basically eaten the pooper scooper and was going after his dog dish before I rescued it. He’s eaten the manger scene my neighbor gave me, with only the holy family and three kings more or less surviving. He started going after the hose until I stored it. I’m worried for the city’s rolling garbage bin and Laudie-dog’s dog-house. He’s got plenty of toys – and I’ll be getting him a regulation basketball to destroy – but, as others have pointed out, he needs a job. These are work dogs. Here I thought “watch-dog” is a good job, but not enough for him, unless…

I think he needs a bigger yard, so that if the fenced in area weren’t just the back of the house but skirted the house to the front, he would then be able to run back and forth, and that would in fact be “a job.” Thoughts?

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Shadow, demonstrating how to make the back yard of the rectory look tiny. The tiles temporarily making up the base of the Marian shrine, are one foot square.

Good points:

Providence provided under incredible circumstances, no cost to me

(reportedly, we’ll see, with papers) pure-bred German Shepherd

Pure black, not a spot of white or tan anywhere, not chest, not feet

Straight back, as usual for the all-black variety

Double-coat, laughing at what never counts as really “cold” weather in WNC

Almost four feet from nose to rump plus another 19 inches for the tail

Edging toward 27 inches tall

At this extraordinarily massive size, even for a GSD, jaw strength competes with the strongest in the world, the Rottweiler

Not neutered, super-friendly, gentle, knows who boss, but totally doesn’t know his own strength, or does

Can put his front paws on your shoulders as you stand straight up

Challenges:

At 12 1/2 months old, had total control of his owners all of his short life (I saw this up-close)

Not trained in any way at all, except possibly, to be disobedient (jaw dropping)

Never fed any kind of normal diet, hanging out at the high school cafeteria, so, possibly, the absolutely worst diet a GSD could have ever (that’s just upsetting)

Unknown:

Can he break a training bite-arm in one bite?

Can he learn how to learn, even though the talent has been suppressed by the previous owners?

Known:

Even if he is untrainable (I doubt that), his perpetual presence at all the vulnerable parts of the rectory is already an invaluable asset and most appreciated

Laudie-dog:

Laudie-dog, in her house, utterly dwarfed by “Shadow”

A bit of turf wars were at foot during the first day, but now they are friends

I was really happy to see little Laudie-dog hold her ground with no fear at all, tolerating no hanky-panky, she being fixed, but not he, but she setting proper boundaries immediately, he now behaving as a gentleman, er, gentledog

Tips for training such a smart dog:

I have no idea. Have you?

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How very boring. A comment came in from Bolivia, of all places (pretending to be from elsewhere), but clearly written by an American probably in self-imposed exile for what I’m guessing are cowardly fascist crimes, even while he is claiming he is speaking for “antifa.”

The problem is that I’m perceiving this as a threat directed at Laudie-dog, as this picture of her was included in the threat. Really? I mean, that’s pretty cowardly.

On the other hand, there were plenty of codes in the message. So, like… what? Just write clearly.

I recall this scene, not that I’m a godfather, and not that Laudie-dog is a horse:

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There is, of course, no replacement for the ultra-famous Laudie-dog, who has saved me from bears and panthers and wolves and snakes. I think of this development as a friend for Laudie-dog. My 82nd Airborne friend arranged the arrangement. It’s a German Shepherd, who I would be tempted to name Benedict, but my friend suggested “Shadow.” Ha! “Shadow” it is for a 1000 reasons. The dog is black as black can be black. Really super friendly. This is not an attack style German Shepherd, just a super friendly German Shepherd. I’ll have to get a taller fence. A lot more dog food. Another dog-house. A really wicked dog-collar… Goodness! Pope Francis might not be happy with this but, hey, the circumstances in my life right now I think justify a super watch dog. Not that Laudie-dog isn’t a super watch dog. It’s just that… And oh, by the way, didn’t Don Bosco have Grigio?

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When getting back last night from a second trip to graham county Laudie-dog noticed a snake coming out on the back porch of the rectory, despite the cold, and she was immediately in protective aggressive flurry mode. Poor snake.

Here’s the summit of the Trail of Tears, Tatham Gap Road, which basically starts in my parish church and makes its way out to Nebraska. The government of the time killed off thirty million bison so as to starve to death those Cherokees who survived the death long death march.

I would like to know how to turn my 770 ThinkWare clips into a YouTube movie so that you all know where I go on my screamingly beautiful Communion Calls with Jesus. This is paradise here on earth.

When a bear was at the hermitage a few years back, she wasn’t fearful, but went on the attack, the level of her ferocity surely breaking all word records. But no shaking, just doing her job. I wouldn’t want Laudie-dog mad at me. But she’s only done this once, with the bear, but with no fear.

Conversely, when a panther was on the attack, Laudie-dog was scared, to death, shaking, crying, screaming bloody murder, she being the prey, along with me. This event was totally different than that the with bear.

The other year she started to cry while giving some attack barks when a pit bull showed up (that not bothering her) with a thief in tow (and that bothered her). She felt the danger for herself and me. She barked some warnings, but was also shaking a bit. This wasn’t exaggerated, however, as I was home at the time and came out to investigate and letting her in.

The other night I wasn’t here in the early evening, but my 82nd Airborne firefighter friend across the street heard Laudie-dog crying and barking frantically and so came over to see what was happening. He said that she was shaking with fear. He said he’s guessing it was a possum. The thing is, Laudie-dog grew up in the back mountain ridges and has zero fear of critters like possums. She’s absolutely not afraid even of bears, only panthers and thieves. There’re no panthers here. Only some few human beings with malicious intent. There was no pit bull. That other thief is long gone. This was someone else. I’m guessing they made it inside, did whatever they needed to do without disturbing anything, kind of, and then left, kind of, waiting to see what would happen. :-) I returned not long after. Laudie-dog was really very happy to see me and come inside as you might imagine. What I would say to the not-so-good-at-remaining-hidden crowd is this: just come when I’m home. That’s makes it all lots easier. I don’t like seeing my dog scared; she saved my tail a number of times and I’m a bit protective of her.

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John leaped in the womb for joy in the womb of his mother Elizabeth at the presence of Jesus in the womb of Mary, who herself gave voice to the joy of Jesus.

John was clothed in camel hair. Super penitential, right? Yes. Dour? Not at all. It’s called not taking oneself seriously, freeing one up to be joyful in Christ Jesus our Lord.

It’s not that John, the greatest of prophets, didn’t have to learn anything:

Let it be for the sake of the fulfillment of all righteousness…

As the Master, so the disciple: yes, you’ll have to get your head cut off… Blessed is he who is not offended by me…

And with that, John, not taking himself seriously, faced his death with joy, dancing for joy as much as he could in his chains, in a dungeon. Perhaps you dance like John?

Meanwhile, we build shrines to the saints (like this post), not to say that we wouldn’t have handed the sword to the soldier of Herod who cut off John’s head, for we would all do that given the circumstances and our own idiocy, but rather to say that, with God’s grace, of which they spoke, we can repent of our celebrations of the ways of this world and learn to rejoice, to dance for joy, to leap for joy at the presence of the Lord Jesus in our lives. Perhaps you dance like this with Jesus…

I dance like a donkey. I admit that we might be a bit dour when we start on this epic spiritual journey, playing the part of the ass of a donkey, so to speak, still taking ourselves a bit too seriously, but then we are introduced little by little to the joy of recognizing the presence of the Lord Jesus with us, and then we also dance for joy, even helping others to do the same. A good friend saw this donkey the other day and couldn’t resist getting it for me, donkey that I am… Ha ha ha…

Meanwhile, I’m sure that Saint John Vianney’s condemnation of the ludicrous dancing in Ars won’t come my way for me being happy to dance for joy in the Lord no matter what. The patron saint of priests, for the dedication of the Baptist’s chapel in his little parish church quipped that “John lost his head for a dance”. Sure. But there are different kinds of dancing. John was also happy to dance with abandon before the Lord, as did David. There’s a long and happy tradition of dancing in Judeo-Catholic life.

It is said by the students of the Tilma that Our Lady of Guadalupe is dancing. Perhaps you dance like Jesus’ good mom:

Even Laudie-dog, Break-dance-dog, demonstrates her joy. Perhaps you dance like Laudie-dog:

Hey John, they’re gonna cut your head off…

Oh, O.K. I guess I’ll have to dance like a chicken with my head cut off…

So, there I was, sitting in a chair, head back, eclipse glasses on, staring at the moon crossing the sun, with Laudie-dog trying to get my attention. So, I took a number of pictures of her, including this one. Mind you, she is not blind, this moment was just a millionth of a nano-second in length in which I somehow managed to take the picture just as she also looked up just before totality. She wasn’t just imitating me; she was trying to tell me that something weird was going on, like, um, me sitting and staring at the sun, because, how dumb is that, right?

During totality, Laudie dog was shaking with fear. But the shaking wasn’t, mind you, in fear of the celestial events. Rather, the town of Andrews was playing super weird spooky music even while others were shooting off fire-works. Laudie dog has no liking for that activity. Anyway, here’s the totality to my naked eye (and naked camera):

I loved going to the planetarium in the Twin Cities as a kid. It’s totally different when you see things happening in front of you. When the moon started blocking the sun, the first thought that came into my mind and heart and soul was: “God exists! God is so very wonderful! God loves us!”

But this wasn’t just an intellectual thing. I suppose people will make fun of me for saying this, but this was a spiritual event for me, very very very peaceful. By that I mean something beyond Saint Paul’s chapter one of his letter to the Romans. All creation speaks of the glory of God, yes! But more… It was as if Jesus was with me watching the eclipse, which, although He is creating that eclipse, although He is creating me, He can come in His wonderfully condescending love (in the absolutely best sense) and be in His own creation (He is incarnate!). And, by the way, He can also give a flower to the Immaculate Conception.

Meanwhile, with the crescent sun a thought came to mind about the crescent moon and Islam.

While I was studying the Syrian language I came across a cultural tid-bit well known to every Muslim in that part of the world but not to someone like me from the North woods of Minnesota: the moon is a man, enlightening in difficult circumstances, helpful and kind, never threatening, even while the sun is a woman, always threatening, burning, hurtful, unrelentingly cruel. During a solar eclipse, the moon beats down the sun. The phases of the moon are actually just the sun trying to escape on the other side of the earth. Once in a while the moon hunts down the sun and shows the sun who is boss. The crescent moon is lifted up above every mosque/cultural center. The meteor rock in mecca is part of the moon come to earth, right? In that part of the world, the received mythology treated various celestial bodies as the gods, that is, the sons and daughters of the original deities which progressively became more material as time went on.

Meanwhile, the woman clothed with the sun in the Apocalypse (and our Lady of Guadalupe) has the crescent moon under her feet. Heh heh heh.

“The opiate of society” is what the Marxists / Communists / Socialists like to call religion, whereby, in that view, the Holy Family is a saccharine escape from the harsh realities of this world. In my travels to such countries that impose dialectical materialism on the peoples they oppress on purpose (with capitalistic narcissism wrought by the government being the goal), what I’ve noticed is that theirs (such governments) is an attempt to let greed drug the members of such governments into violence much worse than any opioids ever could. Opiods, by the way, always lead to violence. What I’ve noticed is that the only ones doing anything for anyone in any way in such places were and are believers, whose love and goodness and kindness and respect for others were the driving engine that drove them not right up into some pie in the sky, but rather into the most desperate of peripheries. For instance, pretty much every Catholic religious congregation in the world has a house opened up in Porte-au-Prince or Caracas or in the nearest ghetto near you. Laudie-dog the Surveillance-Dog is right to take up her post next to the Holy Family. That’s where the needs of all are seen and dealt with, of every man from Adam until the last man is conceived, the greatest need being our redemption and the grace by which we can let go of opioids and violence and live the love and goodness and kindness and respect for others that Jesus brings to us.

Isn’t it ironic, by the way, that the ones pushing drugs on the world are the Marxist guerrillas trying to make a few bucks by way of their violence?

You’ve been had! Laudie-dog doesn’t get hypotized. You’re the one hypnotized by her while she fakes getting hypnotized, awesomely smart dog that she is. ;-)

Thanks go to the wonderful Charlene – whose amazing State Department feats right around the world at significant moments in recent world history I’m getting more acquainted with as time goes on – for she sent in a shipment of milk-bone dog biscuits (one pictured above) and doggie bacon strips and… and… even lots of trail mix. I’m thinking that the trail-mix is for yours-truly, though I had better behave myself lest Charlene say that the trail-mix is also for Laudie-dog!

I am reminded of a mass hypnotism incident of my entire senior class of some 135 students of our smallish Prep School in Central Minnesota, when the Headmaster did a psych experiment on all of us together. While he did this he kept glancing over at me, getting ever more frustrated. I was actually trying to be polite, playing along just to see where he was going with all this. He kept up his hypnotism antics and was having success with the class, but then stopped and explained his frustration with everyone, an explanation which made everyone really pretty upset, enough for a good half the class to complain rather loudly protesting that what he was saying was not true at all and that they just couldn’t believe what he was saying because, of course, they were always in control of their lives. They were really disappointed with themselves. Shaken.

The Headmaster, a good friend, was telling them that he could easily hypnotize the entire class except for one person, me, insisting that he could never ever hypnotize me, ever, no matter what. Maybe he realized that I was hypotizing him by faking that I was being hypotized. ;-) Things are never as they seem. Rare is the person who realizes that things are never as they seem even in unexpected situations when one’s guard is down because one thinks oneself to be in control. Charlene is one of those people and, of course, has had to be, working for the State Department where, truly, nothing is ever as it seems. That’s all they do is deal with politicians and spies. And now she has to deal with me to get Laudie-dog her treats with no one involved getting hypnotized. You gotta be pretty clever if you ask me.

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It was only some hours that had gone by after the shrine of the Divine Son of the Immaculate Conception went up when torrential rain came down with all sort of thunderous carry-on in the heavens echoing in and around the mountain valleys. Normally, this would make Laudie-dog frantic with fear, hyperventilating, shaking, freezing in place with nowhere being good enough to hide, but this time she has such a winning smile: